


Tourmaline Rhapsody

by AureliaAstralis



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Forger AU, Art Thief AU, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Con-woman Darcy, Detective AU, Detective Loki - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AureliaAstralis/pseuds/AureliaAstralis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know the worst thing about art forgery? You can’t take credit for your work.” || art forger + detective au</p><p>She’s the con-woman always on the run, and he’s the detective tasked with chasing her down. It’s about the thrill of the game, running circles around each other, but getting attached was never part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cinnabar prelude

 

**chapter one** || _cinnabar prelude_

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Hrnggggggghh...” 

A hand shot out from under a plaid quilt, quickly hitting the off button before retracting back into the blanket nest. A black and white cat, resting on top of the duvet, screeched indignantly as it was woken unceremoniously by the shifting body beneath the blankets, hissing and clawing at the lump before leaping to the floor and meowing pitifully. A second cat, curled up on the bare sheets next to the blankets, purred soundly, still asleep. 

A dark-haired head crowned by disheveled curls poked out, eyes squinting down at the mewling cat. “Well good morning to you too, Meriweather Lewis.” 

With a deep sigh, Darcy Lewis sat up, her back and shoulders cracking as she stretched. Moaning in discomfort, she half-heartedly blew at the locks of hair falling in her eyes, glaring down at Lewis. “Why can’t you be like Clark here and sleep on the mattress?” Climbing out of bed, she scooped up the second cat, resolutely ignoring how Lewis tried to rub against her ankles as she made her way to the kitchen of her little apartment. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” she muttered, toes numb against the hardwood floor as she played hopscotch with her floor rugs and scattered shoes until nudging her feet into the slippers she left by the TV yesterday night. Shuffling into the kitchen, she set down the cat in her arms and scooped up two bowls of dry cat food, setting them down by the water dish on the floor. 

“No fish, you greedy asshole,” she scowled down at Lewis, who was sulking at the bowl of dry food. The cat sniffed haughtily and sashayed back to the living room, and Darcy snorted. 

“And he wonders why I don’t like him,” she said, bending down to give Clark and affectionate rub behind the ears as he ate. “Well, I’d probably hate everyone too if I had a name like Meriweather. You're a lucky one, Clark -- if you'd been a girl, you'd be a Winifred instead of a William.” 

Turning back to the coffee maker, she flicked the machine on and made a quick omelet of cheese and vegetables, dropping bits of broccoli down into Clark’s bowl as she cooked. When she was finished, she dumped the pan in the sink and brought her breakfast over to her computer, where six new emails waited.

Skipping over the first few, Darcy paused at the fifth email, which came from an unknown address.

_Brava_. 

Eyes narrowed, she checked the last message. 

_Sent more of that green you wanted, should be there by Wednesday. - B_

_P.S.: Best one yet. You owe T one of the JVs. He keeps bugging me about it._

She clicked the attached link, and an article from the Daily Telegraph opened up on her web browser. Scanning the headline, she grinned to herself, pulling her omelet closer as she began to read. 

* * *

****

**_NEW YEAR KICKED OFF WITH ART HEIST: LOSS DEVASTATES NATIONAL GALLERY_ **

_By Thomas Adler, 11:42PM GMT 11 Jan 2014_

_A little more than a week ago, the world celebrated the start of a new year promising new beginnings, and London was no exception to this fact. The festivities filled the streets long before the countdown started, and the celebrations were all well under way as fireworks exploded over the Thames River._

_At the very same time the United Kingdom welcomed 2014 with open arms, an unknown person drove up to the loading dock of the famous National Gallery, picked the backdoor lock, and entered the museum with a large backpack and a storage tube, proceeding to execute perhaps the largest art heist in history._

_Dodging security cameras and evading patrolling night guards, the thief proceeded to disengage security alarms around a total of 14 paintings. Four of these paintings were by Vincent van Gogh, three by Gerrit Dou, and another three by Peter Paul Rubens, but the final four paintings stolen were by far the most devastating losses --_ Belshazzar’s Feast _by Rembrandt,_ The Arnolfini Portrait _by Jan van Eyck, and two priceless Johannes Vermeer paintings,_ Lady Standing at a Virginal _and_ Lady Seated at a Virginal _. The total value of said haul is being withheld as the police investigate the crime, but estimates are reaching well over_ _£516 million GBP (~ $850 million USD)._

_However, the robbery was not even discovered until a mere two days ago, more than a week after the actual thief made off with these priceless paintings. In fact, to the eyes of the museum staff and thousands of unsuspecting visitors, these paintings were hung exactly as they were left when the museum closed for New Year’s weekend. The intruder didn’t just steal the paintings -- he_ replaced _them with decently crafted forgeries, ones that weren’t discovered as copies until a night guard noticed something glowing dimly on a van Gogh, only to find that the painting had been marked with what seemed to be glow-in-the-dark ink and reported the vandalization._

_It wasn’t until the paintings were brought down to the restoration department that they were declared fakes, due to the inclusion of the glow-in-the-dark ink between several transparent layers of dried paint. This unexpected outcome served to highlight yet another discrepancy that was overlooked, this time in the actual painting itself -- the distinctively familiar trademark of a_ _well-known art forger and thief known only by the name, “_ _the Dutch Cat.”_

_Bursting onto the international art scene by stealing the Bosch triptych_ Adoration of the Magi _from the Museo del Prado in Madrid five years ago, the Dutch Cat has pulled off a series of similar heists across North America and Europe in past years. The moniker, coined by American art critic Yvonne Blier, is an homage to what is in essence his signature -- the painted addition of a cat in each forgery he makes -- and his pattern of targeting works by prominent Dutch and Flemish painters ranging anywhere between the 14th and 20th centuries. The Dutch Cat has also been very loosely linked to numerous European crime syndicates, as his nearly indiscernible forgeries of great masterpieces have been found in numerous mob raids and found safe houses, but the connection has been dismissed as an unreliable lead._

_Despite the crippling loss of this tragedy, the police remain hopeful in their efforts to catch the perpetrator. Earlier this evening, the Scotland Yard's_ _Art and Antiquities Unit publicly announced the reassignment of the Dutch Cat’s long-standing case to Detective Chief Inspector Loki Odinson, younger brother of SIS Commander Thor Odinson and son of NSY Commissioner Sir Odin Borrson._

_DCI Odinson, who graduated with a BS in art conservation from Oxford and a MS in criminology from Cambridge, may very well succeed where his peers have failed -- his pedigree, education, and experience have already placed him a huge step ahead of the others. DCI Odinson, who is accredited with the captures of long-time antiquities smuggler Victor Von Doom last year and art scammer Justin Hammer the year previous, has reportedly already made huge headway into the case, and will be taking steps accordingly in order to catch the thief._

_Here’s to wishing DCI Odinson the best of luck._

* * *

Loki Odinson snarled, slamming his laptop closed and throwing his pen across the room. Running an agitated hand through his black hair, he glared at the timid-looking analyst hovering in the doorway of his office, hand poised to knock on the door. “ _What?!_ ” 

The woman, named Anderson, squeaked, taking a step back as she stammered, “W-we got all the files y-you requested, sir!” She darted forward, nearly throwing the stack in her arms on top of his laptop before dashing out the open door. 

Grunting in frustration, Loki gathered up the haphazard pile into some semblance of order, still stewing about the article he had just read. It really was typical, the way journalists seemed always find a way to mention Thor and Odin whenever the Scotland Yard happened to pop up in an article, but at least this one had the courtesy to focus on _his_ achievements instead of those of his family. 

Feeling his anger simmering down, Loki sighed, opening up the first file of the stack half-heartedly. A glance at the first sheet caused a frown, and a quick scan of the rest of the files made him laugh humorlessly -- everything they had on the Dutch Cat was practically useless without any specific information to narrow it down. Loki had no idea where that writer had supposedly gotten his information.

According to the sparse-looking profile, the Dutch Cat was average height and average size, presumed male with a propensity to dark, baggy clothing. He never used the same entry and exit strategy twice, targeted Dutch and Flemish oil paintings, and based on previous heists, was a skilled acrobat in addition to an expert in dismantling security technology. The getaway car used was always hot-wired the night of a heist, and left abandoned in the outskirts of the nearest city or town. 

Flipping through the file, Loki snorted when he came across an artist’s sketch, which showed a rat-faced man with a receding hairline and narrow features. They had nothing on video surveillance besides a vague face shape -- if anything, the Cat was thorough; he was always covered from head to toe. Loki tossed the sketch into the shredder. 

Bringing the stack of folders over to the far wall of his office, Loki added only a few more photos and print-outs to the already covered wall before stepping back to take in his work. The wall looked a bit like the ones on the telly shows, when conspiracy theorists would pin up a whole bunch of shit and mark the connecting links with yarn and pins. Loki would never admit that he got the idea from Thor, whose steadfast childhood belief of an impending alien invasion resulted in a tacked up closet door, but he liked to think he was being a bit more civilized about it all and putting the idea to better use. 

“Odinson?” Loki looked over at the man, a Sergeant James Turner if he remembered correctly. “There’s a call on line three for you -- says it has to do with the case.” 

“I told you already, Turner, I don’t want to speak to any reporters,” Loki said impatiently, turning back to the wall.

“Er... with all due respect, Odinson, I think you want to take this one.” The man shuffled his feet, hissing something intelligible at the murmurs coming from outside his office before clearing his throat. “The woman says she knows when the Dutch Cat is planning to steal again.” 

“Get Morrison and Anderson to start tracing the call.” Loki yanked off his suit jacket, barking out orders that the man quickly began relaying to the analysts gathered in the hall. “I want Phillips on the security cameras, and Cooper on voice recognition. Turner, you stay, everyone else, stop fucking around and get back to your stations to do whatever you’re being paid to do!” 

There was a mad scramble as footsteps echoed through the corridor, and Loki quickly cleared off the large table in his office to make room for the equipment being carried in by the analysts. 

“Ready?” A quick command and fumbling of buttons and he received a roomful of nods, and Loki took a quick breath before picking up the telephone. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Mister Odinson?” Loki ignored the quick typing beside him and focused on the voice speaking in his ear. Slow, almost as if the words were being sounded out phonetically. A thick Russian accent if he had to guess, but most definitely a woman.

“Yes, this is he -- I heard you know when the Dutch Cat plans to act again?” 

“Ah yes. The Tate Modern, you know? Big museum, next week.” The voice was earnest, and Loki exhaled slowly.  

“Thank you very much for the tip, miss...?” 

“ _Kak vezhlivo,_ " she cooed, the soft sound filling his ear, “I am Katrina Duchenka.” 

“Miss Duchenka, then,” he said slowly, the name making something curl in his gut. “May I ask how you came across this information?” 

“What is it you say? Little kitten? No, no...” Loki closed his eyes, holding his breath. “Not kitten. A cat, eh... a cat burglar.” 

“Miss Duchenka, if you’ve made contact with the Dutch Cat in any way, it is imperative that you give me any information you can,” Loki said, as Morrison gave him a thumbs up. “If you could give me your location, I could send someone pick you up and bring you down to my office talk in person.” 

“No, no, I cannot go, I'm busy,” she said hastily, and Loki narrowed his eyes. “I sorry, yes? _Udachi_ , _dorogoy moya_!” 

“Wait--”

He was cut off by the dial tone, and with a sound of frustration put the phone back in its cradle. “Well?”

“She was calling from the pay-phone on Fleet Street,” Morrison answered quickly. 

“Do we have visuals?” 

“She knew where the cameras were, sir,” Phillips said disappointedly. “Hid her face in her scarf and her head’s covered with a hood. With the cold weather no body even took a second look.” 

“Voice?” 

“Definitely Moscow by the accent; the Russian was 'how polite,' and that last bit was ‘good luck, my darling,’ but nothing’s on record, boss.” Cooper gave him an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.” 

Turner hummed. “I sent two teams down once the trace was set, they might pick her up; told them to stop any Russian-speaking woman with a red scarf...”

Loki exhaled slowly, walking back to the wall covered in news articles, photos, print-outs, and maps. “No, they won’t.” 

“He’s too careful.” Loki nodded at one of the laptop screens, which was paused on a freeze frame of the woman at the booth. “I’d say she’s either an accomplice or someone who was picked off the street and paid in cash. And accents can be faked with enough effort, so no point in using that to ID the woman." He sighed cracking his neck with a wince. "Either way it doesn’t matter. We have a lead.” 

“You sure it’s valid?” Turner frowned. 

“He wanted us to know,” Loki said, sticking a pin into the map on the wall. He stared at the little logo marking the Tate Modern museum. “It’s a game, Turner; he gave us the place and a timeframe, and he’s asking us to figure out what he’s targeting.”

“N-not a game, a test. ” All eyes turned to Anderson, who nearly shrunk into her chair at all the attention. She repeated, “I-it’s a test. F-for you, sir.” 

“Explain, Anderson,” Loki said impatiently.

“H-he’s done it before, y-you know?” She nods towards the files on his desk. “Every time they p-put someone new on the case. H-he wants to see what kind of person they’re s-sending after him this time.”

“... a test.” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “A game, a test, a contest, it doesn't matter what it is. We're going to catch him.”  

 

* * *

Darcy smiled to herself, pulling down the knitted hat covering her hair. Quickly walking past the group of policemen converging on a terrified young Russian exchange student with a lovely cinnabar-colored scarf wound around her neck, Darcy hummed a nonsensical tune under her breath. 

The prelude was set, and game was on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the graphic + ficlet I posted on Tumblr a while ago, this is the official start to the art forger/detective AU I started back in December. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to turn that 500-odd word blurb into a full-fledged story, and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have planned! Happy reading :)


	2. copper overture

 

**  
chapter two** || _copper overture_

* * *

“So what, is this some kind of kinky foreplay shit you’ve come up with?” 

Darcy laughed, pushing away the flyaway hairs that escaped from her bun with paint-stained fingers. “Does everything have to result in sex with you, or am I just special?” The chuckle that rang in her ears made her smile. 

“You know you’ll always be my special snowflake, Lewis.” Darcy snorted, twirling the brush in her fingers idly as she studied the computer print-out pinned next to the painted canvas in front of her. The strains of a Bach overture filtered faintly from the earphones of the iPod sitting next to her palatte.

“You get the souvenir I sent you?” she asked, grabbing a jar of linseed oil mixed with charcoal dust, liquor, and turpentine. 

“Yep.” The distinct, staticky sound of a copper mig-welder filled her ears, making her flinch and drop the phone. 

Cursing, she juggled the brush and paint-jar in her hand as she bent down to retrieve the device. “A little warning, Tony!” she yelled into the microphone, and the static was replaced by a not-so-quiet curse.

“Sorry, sorry...” Darcy rolled her eyes, tucking the phone back between her shoulder and ear as she carefully outlined the graphite under-drawing peeking through the dried paint with a translucent grey layer. “Yes, I got it, and Pepper was ecstatic.” 

“She freaked, didn’t she.” 

“You know Pepper.” Darcy hummed, capping the jar and bringing the phone to her other ear with her free hand. “She said thank you, by the way.” 

“No problem.” She loaded her brush with bright crimson glaze and boldly making strokes across the length of a maroon square. “Think of it as an apology for missing Christmas.” 

“To be stuck with an original Vermeer from the 17th century for the rest of my life, or an ungrateful half-sister for two weeks... Give me the Vermeer any day.”

Darcy snorted, switching colors and covering an ochre under layer with a bright yellow finishing glaze. “Thanks, bro; I feel the love.” 

“No problem, cupcake. So wait, go back -- what’s the name of this detective they sent after you?” 

“Some dude called Loki Odinson,” Darcy muttered absentmindedly, filling in the small square of navy with a deep blue. “Couldn’t find a decent picture of the guy, but there’s loads on his brother -- he’s pretty cut... for a jack-booted thug.” 

There was the sound of Tony projecting holograms again, and she heard him laugh. “The brother called Thor? Big, blonde and busty?” 

"Yep." She began building up black oil paint on the center of the canvas. “Just your type.”

“Hilarious,” Tony replied dryly, then chuckled. “Though it looks like the brother is built the way you like 'em.”

There was a chime of a text message, and Darcy turned on the speakerphone to open the attached picture. Pale skin, dark slicked back hair, and blue-green eyes -- definitely her type. “Oh _hello_ , gorgeous... I take back what I said earlier, this definitely can count as foreplay--”

“Ack, gross--” There was the sound of fake gagging coming across the line. “Uh, older brother still present! All thoughts must be kept PG, _please_.” 

She rolled her eyes. “And who brought it up in the first place?”

“Right, sorry, my bad, moving on. You done with the fake?”

“Just have to bake it for an hour,” she said, putting down her brush and bringing the canvas to the preheated oversized oven sitting in the corner of the room. “A coat of varnish and another two hours in the oven after, and no one will be able to tell the difference.” 

“Except for the cat?” 

“Except for the cat.” 

“Still don’t understand why you picked a stupid cat of all things,” he muttered. “Well, let me know how it goes.”

“No way,” laughed Darcy, placing the phone on the oven-top. “You can find out just like everyone else.” 

“How plebian.” Tony groaned. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Darcy slid the finished canvas onto the foil-covered rack, shutting the door closed and setting the oven timer. Squatting down and peering through the oven window, she spied the lump of black paint sitting smack in the center of the canvas, and smiled. 

“Two more days. Hope you’re ready for me, Mr. Odinson.” 

* * *

 

“I want six squads on exterior patrol; two squads covering the immediate surrounding area of the museum, and the other four scouting the urban perimeter at a minimum radius of two blocks,” Loki directed, pointing to the color-coded sticky notes on the large floor plan of the Tate Modern taking up nearly the entire wall of his office. “Inside the building, at least two squads per floor, with one squad covering each wing, so a total of fourteen squads--”

“Hold up, Odinson.” The man leaning at the edge of Loki’s desk rubbed his forehead, exhaling heavily. “Why the bloody hell do you need twenty squads?” 

“With all due respect sir, the Dutch Cat is extremely elusive.” Loki straightened stiffly, looking at the superintendent of the AAU, Harry Kingston, with as little contempt as he could muster. “We have the fortune of knowing both the time frame and location of the thief’s next intended target, it would make the most sense to capitalize on the opportunity while we have the tactical advantage. Also, we’d need an additional five squads placed on call for shift rotation, plus an aerial support squad to cover the roof.”

“Twenty-five squads.” Kingston looked gobsmacked, then gave a barking laugh of disbelief. “You’re out of your goddamn mind, Odinson.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re barking mad, mate.” Kingston calmly slipped the glasses from his face, cleaning them with his tie and then tucking them in his coat pocket. “Your father or not, there’s no way the Commissioner’s going to sign off on anything more than ten squads to catch a silly little cat burglar, let alone twenty five. Hah!” Kingston chuckled again at the idea of it.

“This silly little cat burglar,” Loki’s face was pale with anger as he spoke through gritted teeth, “as you so quaintly call him, is an internationally-based criminal who has stolen over a hundred of the world’s most significant artistic masterpieces, possesses ties with some of Europe’s largest gang syndicates, and is the highest-ranked art thief on Interpol’s most wanted list!”

“Look... I get it’s not easy with your family being part of the force and all, I really do.” Kingston sighed, closing his eyes and missing the way Loki’s hands clenched. “But it’s not just your arse that’ll get ripped to shreds if you botch this up... at least start out small, yeah?”

“We keep this small, we lose him,” Loki snarled. His knuckles were snow-white, and he ruthlessly pushed down the traitorous part of him whispering that Kingston was right. “Catching the Cat means not only retrieving priceless works of art, but also exploiting his ties to the criminal syndicates terrorizing London for the past two years!” 

Kingston studied Loki with a knowing look. “And most importantly, it gives you a one-up on the rivalry you have with your brother.” 

Loki scoffed, schooling his face into an expression of disbelief. “Do you honestly think this is about showing up Thor?”

“Of course I do. Hell, anyone who hears this cocked-up plan of yours would think the exact same thing.” Kingston’s expression went from placid to flinty in the span of a single moment. “I’ve told you before that I want no part in whatever pissing contest you have with your brother, Odinson. That includes any and all cases that fall under my jurisdiction.”

“Sir--”

“If the Commander had his way you’d have nothing but your team of analysts and the worst squad available for field work,” Kingston cut him off pointedly, “but you’re lucky I trust you enough to convince him otherwise. Make do with six squads, and if anything useful comes out of this I’ll get you a goddamn air support unit if you show you need it.” 

Loki sighed mulishly. “Yes, sir.” He dutifully pulled off sticky notes until there were two teams on the museum grounds and four scattered through the interior galleries.

“Better. Make sure you coordinate with the staff before your lot go stomping around like madmen,” Kingston grumbled. “I don’t want to deal with those uppity museum curators any more than I have to.” 

“Of course.” 

“By the way,” Kingston said mildly, clapping Loki on the shoulder as he passed into the hallway. “It’s sixty-eight works of art, not a hundred. You should really read the files more carefully.”

When the door swung shut, Loki threw his hands in the air and not-so-successfully suppressed the urge to scream. 

* * *

 

Two days later, Darcy watched in amusement as a fleet of police cars drove up to the Tate Modern, the spectacle causing people left and right to wander closer in curiosity. A dark-haired, tall figure in an olive Belstaff coat looked to be the one giving out orders, and Darcy stood up from her seat on the steps of the building, buttoning up her black peacoat and turning to enter the illustrious art museum’s gift shop.

Walking past all the mugs and calendars and art books, she headed straight for the art prints, her lips twisting into a smirk as she selected a full-size print-out of the very painting she finished copying a few days earlier. On her way to the register, she snatched a cheap black storage-tube with a cross-body strap, slinging it over her shoulder.

She brought both to the front, giving the teenaged boy manning the register a bright smile. “Just these, please,” she said cheerfully, slipping neatly into a heavy Russian accent. 

He looked at her with a wide-eyed expression of surprise, his ears and neck flushing red. “Er.... sure. Ten for the tube, a hundred-fifty for the print, miss.”  

“Bah, these museums, they always try to rip you off...” Darcy sighed heavily, making a show of digging around her handbag and pulling out her wallet. “Eh, it doesn’t matter, I still need to get rid of all this... pounds are no use in Russia, you know?”

“Sure.” He took the stack of crisp twenty-pound notes from her and counted them as Darcy rolled up the print and slipped it in the storage tube. 

“Your change, miss.” Darcy looked up to see at least half of the bills held out to her, plus a few smaller notes and coins. 

“Will you do me a favor?” Darcy leaned over to the side a little, plucking a postcard from the wire rack next to the counter and plucking a pen from the boy’s shirt pocket. Scribbling a quick phrase and drawing a little doodle on the blank reverse side, she held both the pen and card out to him. 

“Erm...”

“Take it out of my change, yes? When you can, go outside and give it to the tall policeman in the green coat -- this one.” Darcy held up her phone, showing him the image of the detective outside. “And you can keep the rest.” 

Giving the speechless boy a wink, she slung the storage tube over her shoulder, slipping out of the gift shop and out the door. Quickly trotting down the front steps, she pulled up her coat collar as she walked past the group of policemen discussing tactical positions and surveillance, disappearing into the surrounding crowd with nobody the wiser. 

* * *

  

Loki watched as the crowd slowly cleared around him, his squads doing an initial scouting of the museum perimeter with his immediate team of analysts huddled around the makeshift surveillance station Morrison and Anderson had set up in a glaringly obvious van. He had wanted to do all the set up after sundown, at least after the museum was closed tot he public, but Kingston was adamant on not burning daylight -- as he had reminded Loki, most of the squads here weren't even under his immediate jurisdiction. Kingston had to borrow four of the six from the SIS department, something that tore into Loki terribly as he watched them whisper about him behind his back, no doubt comparing him to Thor.

He sighed, enjoying the biting, cool wind that filled the crisp winter air. He had always thrived in the fall and winter months, the cold weather helping him focus his thoughts and organize his mind, but he hated the rain that never seemed to leave expect for a few weeks in the summertime. It always brought back childhood memories of nights huddled under his blankets, shaking in fear as thunder and lightning raged outside his bedroom window, and Thor's merciless teasing for being scared of something so trivial. 

A light cough interrupted him from his thoughts.

“S-s-sir?” Loki turned to see a nervous looking boy in nothing but a museum staff polo and jeans, his hands tucked under his armpits and his teeth chattering. Loki could practically see the goosebumps growing on his exposed arms.

“Are you daft, boy?" Alarmed, Loki quickly shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around the boy’s shoulders. "It’s nearly minus ten out here!” 

“S-s-sorry, sir,” the boy said, but quickly thrust a thin piece of paper out at him. “T-t-this woman, sir... t-t-told me to g-give it to you...”

Frowning, Loki accepted the paper, realizing it was a postcard. Staring down at the odd print on the front, he flipped it over, his blood running cold as he took in the unmistakable doodle of a cat drawn hastily in red ink, with one line scrawled beneath it.

_ Tomorrow - KD_ __

“Who did you say gave this to you?” Loki looked up at the boy urgently, who seemed surprised at Loki’s pressing tone. 

“Erm, s-some bird at the gift shop... r-r-red hair, brown eyes,” the boy said, frowning as he tried to remember. “D-dunno, looked sorta like one of those actresses from those superhero movies...  s-she had a Russian accent--”

Loki swore. “When did she leave?” 

“ ‘b-bout an hour ago, I guess.” He shrugged. “L-l-look, I came over here when I had a break, b-but I only have ten minutes, and I r-really have to use the loo... c-c-can I go...?”

“Damn it,” Loki muttered, before whirling around, spotting a dark-skinned man nearby. “Donovan! Get a blanket for this boy and get to the loo. When you’re done, go tell his manager he’s off for the rest of the day; he works at the gift shop register, ran into Duchenka earlier. Bring him down for questioning.” Loki grabbed his coat off the boy and pulled it back on, leaving the boy standing there looking both bewildered and terrified.

“Sure, boss.”

“W-wait, what?!” The boy squeaked when Donovan wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, effectively pinning his arms to his torso as the burly man marched back to the museum, the poor lad stumbling at his side.

Looking back down, he flipped the card over again, studying the front picture. “ _Questioning Children_ , 1949, gouache on wood,” he read, peering down at the tiny print under the image, “... by Karel Appel.” 

Going back to the reverse, he spotted the short artist biography in the bottom left corner, his throat catching in his chest as he read the first line. 

_‘Karel Appel (1921-2006) was a Dutch painter, printmaker, sculptor, and ceramist, born in Amsterdam.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame season three of Sherlock for any references you might notice. Also, the actual heist will happen in the next chapter -- nearly there! Can't wait for all the fun to finally begin :)


	3. vermilion étude

**chapter three**  ||   _vermilion etude_

 

* * *

 

 “It’s show time, ladies and gents!” Kingston clapped his hands, and stood with Loki at his side in the nearly empty foyer of the museum. A group of twenty-four men and women standing in a scattered huddle snapped to attention at the man’s announcement, filing into six lines.

“Delta, Omega, I want your teams spread out across the grounds; cover the museum perimeter in two rings, one team patrolling the immediate building perimeter and the other the block perimeter.” Kingston received two nods in return, and continued. “Kappa and Gamma, you go with Odinson; one man per floor on the East Wing. Alpha and Beta, you’re with me in the West Wing, same deal.”

“The entire museum will be cleared out by eight tonight.” Loki paused to glance down at his watch, “Which is in exactly ten minutes. There aren’t going to be any curators, custodians, or night guards in the building, so any unknown persons you encounter will either be the Cat himself or one his accomplices. Kingsley and I will be patrolling the circulation paths between the wings, checking in on our respective teams in ten minute intervals.”

“Everyone clear?”

The answering chorus rang through the empty lobby, echoing off the dark concrete. “Yes sir!”

“Disperse!” Kingsley called out, and turned to Loki with a grim smile. “Ready?”

Loki nodded sharply, tugging on the bulletproof vest he wore over his dark pullover and making sure it sat right under the straps of his gun holsters criss-crossing his torso. “Let’s catch this bastard.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy grinned to herself as she stared down at the little tablet in her lap. She had to squint a little, with the tiny screen split between four separate cameras, but she could clearly see the little grainy figures gathered in the turbine hall of the museum.

"You're not making this any fun, detective," she murmured as she gently traced a slim, dark-headed figure at the foreground of one video feed. Gaze slipping over to the storage tube next to her, she couldn't help but smile as the dark, painted silhouettes of the rolled up canvas stared back at her through tinted plastic.

Movement on the tablet screen caught her eye, and she watched as the squads slowly dispersed, leaving the hall empty save for the detective and another man. Glancing out from her vantage point, her eyes traced the shadows of those squads moving along the river and circling the museum, some coming so close that she could hear the crunch of their boots on the loose gravel below her.

"Moment of truth, Darcy," she whispered, stowing her tablet at the back of her bulletproof vest and shrugging the armor over her shoulders, a climbing harness following it. Quietly securing the straps tightly around her torso, Darcy cocked her head to the side, peering over the edge of her hideout to see two figures right below her.

"This is a bloody waste o’ time," one man muttered angrily, kicking up a spray of dust and pebbles. "Dunno what Thor was thinkin’, sendin’ us out on this fuck-up o’ a mission..."

"Orders are orders, Mark," the other, a woman, replied, though she sounded like she was trying to flirt with the other man. Darcy grimaced at the simpering tone, mentally deciding the woman would be the first to go.

She palmed a tranquilizer dart, letting it fly at the woman’s neck as the woman continued blabbering on, much too loudly for someone supposedly working in a covert operation squad. "Figures Loki would get what he wants, but there's a rumor he asked for twenty plus squads, you know, plus air support ... he has to be insane to think -- ow!"

Darcy frowned as the woman slapped a hand over her upper back. The needle slipped neatly through soft tissue, nowhere permanently damaging besides a mild back ache in the morning, but it wasn’t where she had been aiming. In the moonlight she saw the woman's eyes widening, her fingers finally finding the long needle protruding from her shoulder, and Darcy sent the next one towards the man's knee. "Mark --!"

"Fuck, what the hell was that?" The man looked down incredulously, clearly not seeing anything until his eyes caught a glint of light reflecting off his calf. "What the..."

Darcy watched as the woman dropped, the man quickly losing consciousness after her. Sliding down to the ground along a drain pipe, she pulled a few zip-ties from her pocket, quickly binding their limbs together and arranging their bodies so they were bound back to back. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the two needles still sticking out of their bodies. 

Two misses -- her throwing was rusty, and if the gang back home ever caught wind of this she’d never hear the end of it. Quickly collecting the needles, she kept them loosely between her fingers, shaking her head as she headed off toward the rest of the squads.

"Note to self; target practice at the range tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

“Delta, Omega, Alpha, Gamma, I repeat, what’s your status?”

Loki frowned as his radio call was met with silence. It had been only a little over two hours since the squads dispersed, but only two of teams stationed within the museum had responded to his calls. Exchanging a glance with Kingsley across the hall, the man nodded and turned to his own radio.

“Lee, Jacobs, respond immediately, do you copy?”

There was a beat or two of silence, then static filled the air of the empty room, crackling along with the sound of heavy breathing. “Rivers from Gamma, squad compromised -- incapacitated -- target sited -- mmph!”

Loki looked up in alarm when the radio cut off, leaving the last of Rivers’ words echoing in space.

 

* * *

 

Darcy huffed as she took down the last man in the corridor of the lower east wing. The first two teams or so had been a breeze, a needle laced with paralyzing agent to the neck and _voila,_ gone 'till morning, but the others had quickly caught on, converging in groups of three or more. There were only so many places to hide in such and open gallery space, and for the past few encounters she had been forced to engage at close range.

"Tanning, Pearson! what's your status?" She looked down at the radio headset hanging awkwardly off the downed man's head, spewing a soft buzz of static after the communication was stopped.

"Team Beta, I want two men down to the lower wings, scout out the situation." She wrinkled her nose slightly; she hoped the voice on the radio was the other man she had seen earlier -- it reminded her of her old poli-sci professors at Culver, boring as they were.

Appropriating the radio for herself, she clipped it on her vest and plugged in her own headphones, the white cords falling starkly against the black of her outfit. Humming a few bars of her favorite étude to herself, she calmly stripped the downed men on the floor of their weapons, holstering a nice arrangement of throwing knives, three Glocks, and a particularly nice taser she found on one of the women. The rest she tossed up into the installation hanging from the ceiling, a coarse net of hemp and silk artfully arranged by dangling threads.

It looked quite striking, if she said so herself, even if sculpture was never her forte. The later additions of a dozen or so more handguns made the installation sag dangerously low, but Darcy had made sure to toss the loaded magazine clips into her storage tube -- no point to throwing away good ammunition. 

The sound of heavy, squeaking boots distracted her from her thoughts, and she hefted the tube, holding one end with two hands like a baseball bat as she backed up behind one of the display walls. Looking down, she saw the broad, slow-moving shadow of a man approaching the doorway, and the moment she saw the tip of the man’s nose she swung the tube with into his face with enough force to make his head snap back, falling to the ground with a loud thud. 

“Michael!” His partner was quick to respond, grabbing the tube and using it to yank her close enough to get a hold on her, but she let go abruptly, making the second man stumble back. The loss of balance was just enough for Darcy clock him over the head with her stolen radio, and he was out like a light. 

“That’s mine, thank you very much,” she sniffed, grabbing the art tube out of the man’s limp hand before tying the two of them together and marching out to meet whoever was sent after her next.

 

* * *

 

Loki was both agitated and frustrated, fiddling with his pocket knife as he waited impatiently for any news. It was just him and Kingston now, assuming the Cat took out the last four men he sent down a half hour ago. He used the back of his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to alleviate the beginnings of a headache.

"She played us."

“That she did,” Loki murmured. 

Kingston looked at him ruefully, sighing heavily. "I guess I should've gotten you those squads, Odinson."

Loki smiled halfheartedly, taking another glance down at the frozen escalator. Nothing. "Do you think it's Duchenka, the Cat, or someone else entirely?"

“Hopefully only one.” Kingston chuckled tiredly, "Have we ever considered that Duchenka and the Cat could be the same person?"

"Of course we have." Loki tried to tone down his irritation at the asinine question, replying hotly, "I'm not an idiot, you know."

Kingston only gave him a mild look, before the radio started spewing static.

"Glad to know you think so highly of me, detective," a voice cut in suddenly, and he looked down at his radio in alarm. "But the Cat has more pressing matters to attend to, and so he sent me to do some scouting."

Loki grabbed the radio, part of his brain screaming in alarm as his eyes searched the darkness. She was close -- close enough to listen to their conversation. ".... Miss Duchenka."

Not a second later, it flared to life again.

“ _Privet_ , detective,” came from the radio in a familiar purr, and Loki’s expression twisted into a one of extreme frustration as he recognized the voice. “Thank you for the lovely welcoming committee, they were quite entertaining.”

“Apparently not entertaining enough if you made your way through all of them already,” he replied dryly. “What have you done to my men?”

“Ah yes, your little squads. They’re just a bit occupied at the moment, _dorogoy_.” Loki could practically hear the smile through the radio. “Nothing to worry about, they’ll be... as they say, right as rain in the morning?”

Loki’s eyes darted to Kingston, who nodded and quietly moved off towards the stairs, footsteps soft and slow on the thin metal. “Close enough, Miss Duchenka.”

“So formal, detective.” She made a soft chiding sound. “Do call me Katrina, at the very least, Mr. Odinson... after all, depending on how well you do tonight, we may be working together for quite sometime.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you’ve made things awfully complicated.” Loki could hear the faintest sound of thumping, looking around before finally realizing the sound was coming from the stairs Kingston had just disappeared to. Slowly, pulling out his gun as he stepped quietly towards the stairwell, his attention was caught by a sudden flood of light in the main gallery room of the East Wing. Cautiously, looking back at the stair again in hesitation, he stepped towards the open rooms, listening to Duchenka say, “I’m just evening things out before we get to the real issue here.”

His lips tightened when he came across Alpha Team, unconscious, bound, and lined up in the center of the space in a neat row. “I assume you’ve taken out the rest of my teams then?”

“You assume correctly, _dorogoy_.” A soft laugh washed through his ear. “Your other friend was a bit more of a challenge, but he will be fine in the morning.”

Loki bit his lip, studying the prone bodies lying on the floor. He held no affection towards any of the teams helping him tonight, save Kingston, but he was keenly aware that all of them were alive solely due to Duchenka’s mercy. “Thank you for not killing them.”

There was a beat of silence, then a gentler reply. “No matter what you may think of the Cat, Mr. Odinson, I myself do not believe in murder.”

He exhaled softly, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to rub his temples at the headache now firmly growing there. “What is it that you want from me, Miss Duchenka?”

“Today isn’t about the Karel Appel behind you, detective.” Loki whirled around, zeroing in on the same painting that he saw on that postcard earlier that day. He stepped closer, eyes scanning the artwork for any sign of the telltale cat within the painting, but the radio stopped him short. “It isn't up to Cat's usual standards, so here it stays... but there's another painting in this room that is one of Cat's particular favorites.”

The lights dimmed and spotlights flared to life, illuminating each of the fifteen other artworks hung within the gallery room. Scattered across all four walls in addition to two partitions, he bit back a growl of frustration as he recognized the paintings.

He began a slow circle through the gallery, studying each painting for a few seconds before moving on. “How am I to know you only took one?” Loki asked, noting the large number of modern Dutch masterpieces.

“Is my word not enough?”

“What do you think?”

"Oh ye of little faith." A tinkling laugh came through the radio. “You are much more interesting than your predecessor, detective. I do hope you’ll pass the test.”

There was silence after that. Loki waited patiently for a few minutes until it became clear that there was to be no other witty retort, turning the radio off and stuffing the headset into his vest. He didn’t drop the gun, holding it loosely in both hands as he completed his slow circuit across the gallery.

“Not any of the Appel paintings,” he said aloud, and was startled when the six spotlights on the aforementioned artworks faded in unison. Looking around cautiously after a heartbeat of silence, he stepped towards one of the still-lit pieces. “Nor the three van Doesburg paintings.” More spotlights darkened.

“He’s Russian, so you probably wouldn’t take it, but the Malevich is real, unfortunately -- _White on White_ my arse.” Loki caught the faintest sound of a giggle, too soft for him to pinpoint.  “These two by Rothko as well... though they’re much better than those horrid _Seagram Murals_ \-- should’ve sent those back to America once they arrived.”

This time, the laugh was muffled even further, and before he could think about it he felt the corner of his lips curl up in amusement. He moved to stand between the last two paintings, a Mondrian and a Gestel, looking closely at the latter before something on the Mondrian caught his eye.

“Nor this one,” he murmured, and smiled when the light flickered out over the Gestel. His gaze found its way back to the Mondrian, and stepped closer to examine the tiny, barely raised lump of black paint at the edge of one thick black line.

“How clever,” he murmured, fingers running over the faint, tiny shadow of a cat cast onto the canvas, the spotlight above making it barely discernible. Stepping back and studying the piece in its entirety, Loki couldn’t help but admit it was a brilliant, nearly impeccable replica of the original. “Quite the masterpiece, but... this one.”

" _Bravo_ ," came the whisper through the radio, followed by a low rustle of fabric somewhere behind him. It would've been easily missed if he hadn’t been listening for it, and when he heard the soft footsteps trailing away, he quickly followed.

He pursued her up the emergency stair, slipping through the roof door with his gun cocked only to see a figure standing at the edge of the building, facing away from him with her silhouette and deep, vermilion hair haloed in moonlight. In one hand was a plastic tube, the painting barely discernible in the shadows of her body.

“You waited for me,” he said, the words nearly lost in the London wind. “I’m flattered.”

“I wanted to meet the one they sent this time.” She looked back at him over her shoulder, her face covered with large infra-red goggles and a mask, but the easy, sultry charm in Duchenka’s voice made something in his stomach lurch. “I must say, you tested much better than that last man, Mr. Odinson.”

“I’d hope so, considering Carmichael’s idea of art is comic books and doodles on police reports,” he said dryly, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t stop himself when her throaty laugh brought a smile to his face.

“You’re quite funny.” She cocked her head, and despite not being able to see her face, he could feel her gaze on his body, shamelessly appraising him before dragging her eyes again up to meet his. “Have you come to lock me up, _de-tec-tive_?” She drew out the syllables, her words laden with promise.

“That is the idea, darling,” he smirked at the lilting, coquettish tone of her voice, “Though I find myself wondering if you're merely a distraction for the Cat's larger scheme.” Two could play at her game.

"Funny and clever, what a catch!" She laughed, free and loud, the sound surprisingly clear against her mask and the fierce wind. "You and I are both just the mice in this game, _dorogoy_ ; Cat will not come out until you have proven your worth."

"And did I pass?"

"With flying colors," the woman replied, clapping her hands theatrically. She slung the storage tube in her hand across her body, the movement made him tense. "Cat is very impressed.. but unfortunately, I have some places I must be getting to, Mr. Odinson."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, miss," Loki said shortly, pushing aside his earlier amusement as he flicked off the safety of his gun. He began approaching her slowly, using one hand to take a set of handcuffs out of his trouser pocket. “And from where I'm standing, it seems like you don’t really have anywhere to go."

“Mm, how kinky,” she purred, moving backwards slowly and matching his steps until her back hit the concrete parapet. The movement of her hands drew his attention to the harness she was wearing, and she quipped, “If only this lovely Mondrian was not here, perhaps..... but maybe next time, _krasavchik_.”

She turned away as he sprinted towards her, and just as he was about to reach her she flipped smoothly across the parapet and dove over the edge, his outstretched hands catching nothing but a whisper of smooth, silken hair against his skin.

A quick glance over the edge saw her rappelling down the facade of the Tate Modern, and when she was clearly out of his reach she stopped, looking up at him.

“I'll be in touch, detective!” she called up at him, and he noticed absently that his vantage point gave him a perfect view down her cleavage until it was interrupted by a hand tracing over her chest.

“And I do hope you enjoy the view!” she laughed, and Loki froze in a mixture of surprise and shock, which quickly faded to burning embarrassment. His lips slipped up into a reluctant grin when she gave him a cheeky wave upon reaching the ground, and Loki lost himself in his thoughts as he watched her hot wire a car and disappear down Hopton Street.

He didn’t register how long he stood there, staring until her car disappeared into the dense urban fabric of London, but Loki was pulled from his musings by the slamming of the door, turning around to see Kingston disheveled and breathless.

"Did we lose her?" he asked between breaths.

Loki held up the empty handcuffs in response, his earlier grin growing into a full out laugh. "Six squads, all taken out by a woman," he said gleefully, and Kingston rolled his eyes. "Thor will be mortified."

"Don't forget about us in your humiliation, Odinson," Kingston grumbled. "She ran circles around us too... I'm going to have bruises for weeks."

"Bruises?"

Kingston pulled up his sleeves, and even in the faint moonlight Loki could see the dark blotches on the older man's wrists. "Trussed me up like a pig, she did," he groused. "She beat you down too?"

"No," he said absently, looking back in the direction Duchenka disappeared to. "She was actually quite... pleasant."

“Well that's a first,” he heard Kingston mutter, but ignored him as he shoved the handcuffs into his pocket and holstered his gun, feeling oddly cheerful. 

“Do you suppose we’ll need to borrow a trolley to cart the bodies out then?” Loki asked, squinting to try and make out the bodies that lay sprawled across the riverbank patio between the museum and the Thames. “Or could we just call Thor’s office and make them do it? I’d like to be there when they all wake up, at the very least.” 

Kingston took one look at the unabashed glee in Loki's expression, and buried his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this took forever. I did say I was going to try for chapter four as well, but I decided to lump the whole thing together after many awkward attempts at ending it mid-heist. Hope you guys like it!


End file.
